


Keep Passing The Buck

by Justanotherface



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a mess, Alex makes Thomas feel guilty, Alex sleeps in his office, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Anxeity, Broken Alex, Constant Feels, Dead Philip Hamilton, Do they know that food is meant for eating not throwing?, Does anyone actually do any work?, Eliza doesn't forgive Alex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Internalized Homophobia, Jefferson's POV, M/M, Modern AU, Panic Attacks, Peggy is the friend we all need, Slow Burn, Socially awkward thomas jefferson, Thomas is actually a decent human being for once, Thomas tries to fix alex, dead john laurens, nobody likes adams, washington is a dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-07-27 23:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20054398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justanotherface/pseuds/Justanotherface
Summary: Let's face it, Alexander Hamilton has never had it easy, but after losing his position as Head of Finance, breaking up with his wife, being kicked out of his home, and having his son die - all in the space of three months - Alex is pretty much done with life in general, choosing to only leave his office when forced to do so. Nobody appears to notice, or really care, about Alex's change in behaviour - nobody except Thomas Jefferson, the very person who Alex blames for all his troubles.





	1. This is why you should never work overtime

For as long as he could remember, Thomas Jefferson has been scared of the dark. When he was younger, he could never quite place why he was afraid, he just was. Then, as he grew a little older, he realised that it wasn’t technically the dark in which he was afraid of, but the things that might lurk within it. When he was little, even a slight creak in the middle of the night would cause his imagination to go overboard, visualising the horrific creatures which could be lying in wait.

The printer hammered into life and Thomas’ body jolted, knocking his chair to the floor. His heart was still hammering in his chest as the picked up the chair and nervously laughed to himself. Just the printer, he thought as his eyes around his office which was illumination only from the glow from his laptop. The only thing he could really see was the digital clock on his desk which read: 20:24.

He blinked a few times, staring at the clock in disbelief. Somehow, 30 minutes of overtime had turned into 3 hours and 24 minutes. He’d never worked that late before – ever. Yes, he was prone to working overtime – everyone finished at 5pm, so the only way to avoid being caught up in the sea of people flooding the building was to leave around 30 minutes later, and Thomas figured that getting home half-an-hour late was a decent compromise to avoid unnecessary socialisation – but he’d never worked that late.

Cursing the dark winter nights, he rose from his chair and collected his papers from the printer before exiting his office. He navigated the corridors in complete darkness, trying to keep himself calm. He was a grown man, he really shouldn’t be scared of the dark, but he couldn’t help his walk turning into a jog. He thought about taking the elevator at the end of the corridor like he always did, but after a moment of toying with the idea, he came to the conclusion that there was no way he wanted to be trapped in a little dark box by himself – plus, there was nobody to call if the elevator went wrong. He took the stairs down to the floor below his – finance – and way ready to decent down the next flight, when he saw a light poking through the door of the fourth floor and the stairs.

Somebody else was in the building.

But it was so late. Even the cleaners had gone home. For a split-second, Thomas thought that it could be Washington, who’d always been rumoured to stop exceedingly late, but then he remembered that Washington retired back in May, and there was no way that John Adams would chose to work late, not when he hardly chose to show up in general. So who the hell was in the building with him?

Thomas desperately wanted to go and look, to see where the light was coming from, but, with his hand centimetres from the doorknob, something stopped him.

Because, for all those nights he would lie awake in the darkness, he’d never once turned on the light; there was something inside him that would rather not know the answer – just like how he’d always look away when giving blood, or how he’d close his eyes when kissing someone. Sometimes it’s best to just not look, to not know the answer. It could be a burglar, Thomas thought. They could be armed.

Thomas shook his head. He wasn’t six years old anymore. He was twenty-six, and it was time to stop being such baby. He took in a deep breath and pushed the door open, possibly changing the course of his life in the process. 

He knew that office. Thomas had been to that office only three months prior with James and Burr at his sides. 

That was Hamilton’s office.

Thomas immediately thought of turning back around and taking the rest of the stairs down to the ground floor: there was no way that he would ever choose to talk to a man he absolutely hated. Yet, there was a small part of him that wanted to see Hamilton, because, ever since Philip’s death, Thomas had barely ever seen him; he’d become even more of a recluse than Thomas, choosing to spend all his time in his office, only coming out for mandatory meetings. And, although Thomas would never admit it aloud (not even to James), he kind of missed hearing Hamilton’s voice, all loud and merry in the corridors, he missed seeing the fire and passion in Hamilton’s eyes when they’d debate, he missed hearing Hamilton’s strange as heck insults—

**Knock, Knock, Knock**

Thomas stood in absolute shock at his own actions. He’d somehow walked all the way down the corridor and knocked on Hamilton’s door. He’d knocked on Hamilton’s office door. Oh, shit.

Please don’t open, Thomas thought. Please. Don’t. Open.

Of course, the door opened, and Hamilton stood in the doorway, hair down, wearing jeans, a hoodie, and an expression of pure shock. “Jefferson,” said Hamilton, regaining his composure, “what do you want?”

“I…,” Thomas stuttered, trying to figure out what he, himself, wanted, whilst simultaneously trying to figure out why Hamilton wasn’t in his usual suit and tie. People got changed to bike home, but there was no way Hamilton could have been biking home in the dark at half-past eight.

“What do you want?” Hamilton asked again, his voice simply sounding tired.

“I… I need your signature to pass a new marketing campaign,” Thomas lied, holding out the documents he’d just printed from his laptop. If Washington was still CEO, then Thomas would have needed Hamilton’s signature, but since Adams’ became CEO, Hamilton was no longer Head of Finance, so his signature was irrelevant to Thomas.

Hamilton stared at the papers Thomas was holding before simply saying, “No.”

“What?” Thomas asked, feeling the anger rise within him. Heck, he didn’t even need Hamilton’s stupid signature.

“I said no,” Hamilton responded rather calmly, pushing the papers away. “I’m not doing anything to help you, Jefferson.”

Well, that was new. Not the whole, not helping him part, Thomas knew that Hamilton would never try to help him out, but Hamilton didn’t even read through the papers. He’d usually revel in the fact that Thomas wanted something from him, knowing he could use it as leverage for their next argument, but he didn’t even so much as glance at the papers.

“You didn’t even look at them,” Thomas said, knowing that he didn’t even need Hamilton’s signature and that he could just be on his way home, but there was something about Hamilton’s attitude that was annoying him. Hamilton had no right to act all high and mighty, not after the incident. Didn’t he understand that the whole reason he still had a job at the company was because Washington was able to pull a few stings, despite having retired a few months prior to the incident?

“If it’s got anything to do with you, I don’t need to look at it. I’m not signing it.”

Thomas huffed and stepped away from Hamilton’s door, clutching his papers. “Fine,” Thomas said. “It’s not like I even needed your fucking signature, anyway.”

And for the first time since opening his door for Thomas, Hamilton’s face finally displayed anger. “Then why the hell would you come and—” Hamilton stopped, mid-sentence. “You know what, I don’t care. I’m so done with you and your stupid antics. You came down here to try to hurt me? To show me how insignificant I am? News flash, Jefferson, I know, so just… just stop.”

“Hamilton—” Thomas began, but he was cut off.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough to hurt me?” Hamilton asked, giving Thomas a bitter smile.

“What are you on about?” Thomas asked, bewildered.

“Philip, Eliza—”

“You’re blaming me for that?” Thomas asked with a slight laugh. “I’m not the one who had an affair, I’m not the one who posted their affair online for the whole world to see, I’m not the one who ruined their reputation. All I had was an empty gun, you were the one who supplied the bullets. It’s your own fault, Hamilton!”

“Please leave, Jefferson,” Hamilton said calmly, all of the anger flowing out of his face as he pulled on the blank mask he’d worn since Philip’s death.

Thomas put his foot in the doorway. “No, I’m not leaving until you—” And then he saw it: there were bags of clothes on the floor, next to a blanket-covered mattress. “Are you living in your office?!”

“Get out,” Hamilton whispered violently, forcing Thomas to take his foot out of the door-frame and have Hamilton close the door in his face.

Thomas made his way down the rest of the stairs, out of the building and to his car. His mind was too preoccupied with Hamilton to even think about being scared whilst walking in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,
> 
> Firstly, thank you so much for reading this. I know i'm writing a Hamilton fanfic in 2019, but I suppose that some people must still be as obsessed with the musical as me, right? 
> 
> I'm planning to keep adding to this either weekly or once every two weeks. I'm hoping to put out slightly longer chapters in future, I just really wanted to get the ball rolling. Please, let me know what you think of it so far. All comments/opinions are welcome.
> 
> Please let me know if you find any errors.


	2. Jerry the (plastic) skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is a sassy diva to Adams and Burr has a (plastic) skeleton called Jerry.

Adams’ meetings were always boring – there was absolutely no room for argument in that sentence, it was, quite simply, a fact which Thomas had concluded after Adams’ first meeting – and it was probably due to that fact as to why Thomas was staring so intently at the empty seat opposite him. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that that seat belonged to Alexander Hamilton.

It wasn’t like Thomas had been having exceptional trouble to remove Hamilton from his head since their conversation the previous night; it wasn’t like Thomas was upset that Hamilton blamed him for his downfall; it wasn’t like Thomas might have actually considered the possibility that it could be his fault; it wasn’t like Thomas had started to feel guilty that Hamilton was sleeping on his office floor (albeit, on a mattress), and probably living off food from the vending machine. Maybe if he told himself that enough times it would become true, but as he found himself staring at Hamilton’s chair, he realised that it probably wouldn’t be the case.

Thomas’ head shot up as he heard the door creak open and he found himself unsure if he wanted it to be Hamilton or not.

“Alexander,” Adams said, abruptly stopping whatever boring topic he was droning on about and waiting for Hamilton to take his seat, “you’re late.”

“Evidently,” said Hamilton rather matter-of-factly, putting his head in his hands and looking about as full of life as Jerry, the (hopefully) plastic skeleton Burr had in the corner of his office.

“So,” Adams continued, “as I was saying, I believe that the extension strategy I’m showing to you is the best way to—”

And that was about all Thomas could take of that. He fully believed that if any aliens ever tried to invade the Earth, then Adams would be the perfect spokesperson: he’d bore them so much that they’re rather fucking leave then spend another second listening to him waffle on about stupid extension strategies that would never work in a million years.

Thomas mentally sighed and lifted his head up to stare at the seat opposite him, ready to meet Hamilton’s fiery eyes. It was by complete chance that his seat happened to be the one opposite Hamilton’s. He was slightly mad at first: when Thomas was assigned the seat, both Hamilton and himself had done nothing but argue since Thomas had been sent from France to help out New York’s marketing team. Yet, in the first meeting, their eyes had somehow locked, and Thomas didn’t want to be the first to look away – that would mean losing – so, instead, they just stared each other down until Washington snuck up and managed to make them both jump with the sudden slamming of his first on the table.

Yet, this time when their eyes lock onto one another, Thomas didn’t see the burning fire he used to. In fact, he didn’t see anything; it was like looking into a steamed-up bathroom mirror, Thomas knew that he wasn’t getting the true image. Hamilton stared at him for a couple of seconds before looking away and facing his eyes in the direction of the wooden table.

Hamilton wasn’t playing their game and it annoyed the heck out of Thomas – he’d won, he’d beaten Hamilton. Yet, after their brief encounter the previous night, Thomas was pretty sure that, strangely, he didn’t like the fact that he’d won. If Thomas would have been told, three months ago, that Hamilton would finally stop being the annoying idiot he was, Thomas would have thanked his lucky stars and started counting down the days by putting little crosses on his kitchen calendar. The highly ambitious, self-righteous, argumentative Hamilton of before managed to irk the hell out of Thomas in a way that no other human in the world had managed to do before, but Thomas hated the shell of the person he was left with. It just wasn’t right seeing Hamilton so deflated – it was like watching a fish start to walk.

Thomas reached out and kicked Hamilton under the table. Yes, he realised that it probably wasn’t the best method of trying to get a reaction out of him, but after Thomas, quite literally, lost sleep over the man, he’d about ran out of patience when it came to Hamilton’s antics (or, technically, lack of antics). He felt his toe collide with Hamilton’s shin, not hard enough to cause any serious pain (contrary to popular belief, Thomas wasn’t actually that mean) but hard enough for Hamilton to take notice of the fact that somebody had kicked him.

Hamilton didn’t even acknowledge the blow to his shin, keeping his eyes fixed on the table and letting out a sigh of boredom; Thomas began to grind his teeth together causing James to nudge Thomas’ foot under the table.

“You okay?” James mouthed to him when Thomas turned his head to face him.

Thomas just nodded and tried his best focus on what Adams was saying for the remainder of the meeting – anything to stop his brain from not turning to the man sitting opposite him. Thomas almost had to laugh to himself: Hamilton finally managed to capture Thomas’ interest when he’d stopped being loud and obnoxious.

After Adams finally dismissed everyone, Thomas was ready to practically sprint out of the conference room – desperately wanting Hamilton to be gone from the forefront of his mind. He was nearly out of the door when he remembered that he needed to get Adams’ approval for his new marketing campaign. So, let out a sigh, he made his way to his office, collected the papers, and dragged himself back to the conference room, praying that Adams would have mercy on him and not subject him to the horror of small-talk.

He’d just gotten outside the door when the sound of voices in the conference room hit Thomas’ ears. He recognised both those voice with ease and, with only a second of hesitation, placed his ear to the room’s door, eavesdropping on the conversation inside.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Adams said. “You used to be so hardworking, and now it’s like you just don’t care anymore. I know you've had things a bit rough recently—”

“Okay,” Hamilton interjected, using the same emotionless voice he’d spoken to Thomas in the night before.

“But that doesn’t give you the excuse to neglect your work and show up to meetings so late—”

“Okay,”

“I know that Alexander, and I’ve already said how sorry I am, but you need to start putting in more effort otherwise I’m going to have no choice but to fire you.”

Thomas’ heart dropped. He couldn’t even imagine the office without Hamilton, it just wasn’t right. Washington had Thomas transferred to the US branch of the firm when the French branch started to go downhill, and by that time Hamilton had been at the office for a fair few months, and just the thought of work without Hamilton didn’t make sense. Thomas couldn’t even decide if he liked the idea or not, it was just… wrong.

“Sure,”

“Is that a ‘sure’ you’re going to work harder?”

“Sure.”

“Do you even want to keep your job?”

“Sure.”

Thomas heard Adams let out a very loud sigh before telling Hamilton to leave. Thomas scuttled away from the door, assuming a more inconspicuous position. Hamilton briefly looked at Thomas as he was leaving, and Thomas held up the documents he’d brought to Hamilton’s door last night as an answer as to why he was waiting outside the conference room. Hamilton didn’t even acknowledge Thomas or his papers before walking off, and Thomas quickly got Adams’ signature on his papers. He was nearly back out the door when Adams asked, “I don’t suppose you know what’s wrong with Hamilton?”

Thomas felt a sudden anger flow through him; as much as it killed him to admit it, Hamilton had done so much for the company in his time working there. Adams couldn’t fire him. Adams shouldn’t have the power to even be able to threaten to fire him. When Thomas went to Hamilton about the e-mails he’d found, he never meant to get Hamilton into as much trouble as he had. Thomas never meant to destroy him – because that’s what he’d done – he’d destroyed Alexander Hamilton.

“I mean, his four-year-old son’s kind of… what’s the word… dead?” Thomas asked sarcastically before shutting the door and not waiting for Adams’ response and walking back to his office, keeping his head down and trying to avoid as much social interaction as possible.

It was only when he was safely seating in his office, did suddenly become appalled with his actions – not about being rude to Adams, he was (and would be) always rude to Adams – but by the fact that he’d somehow became infuriated over the way which Adams was treating Hamilton, somebody who, according to everyone else in the office, Thomas absolutely hated. And they were right, right? You could hate someone and still feel slightly bad for them at the same time, like if somebody stole a child’s ice-cream and ran off with it, only to get hit by a car and lose a leg. Thomas would feel bad for them for losing a leg, but he’d still dislike them for stealing the child’s ice-cream in the first place. Thomas shook his head a the weird analogy and got back to work; he was overthinking things way too much.

The rest of the day was almost completely normal with Thomas trying to get as much work done as possible, whilst simultaneously praying that nobody would try to bother him. 5 pm rolled around swiftly, and by 5:20, Thomas was pretty sure that, as usual, everybody else had gone home. He kicked away from his desk, listening to the wheels on his chair squeak as he rolled backwards until he finally came to a stop in the middle of his office before sighing and running his hands through his curls. He didn’t know what to do. Heck, Thomas didn’t even know if he should do anything, it wasn’t really any of his business. 

Nope, that was a lie; Thomas had, albeit unwillingly, made it his business when he went to Hamilton’s office three months ago.

Thomas forced himself out of his chair was organising the straightening the stationery on his desk, waiting for the clock to show 5:30 when there was a knock on his office door. Thomas, completely puzzled, turned to face the door. He supposed it could be one of the cleaners, but the cleaners had never bothered him, and Thomas had been stopping late every day for over three years, now. So who could it be?

“Hamilton?” He said, slightly shocked about the reverse deja vu from the previous night.

“Jefferson,” Hamilton started, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, “I didn’t know if you’d still be here. I mean, to be honest, I didn’t really want you to still be here, but you are, so I want to… I want to thank you for not saying anything to Adams. When he called me to stop behind earlier, I really thought that you’d ratted me out. But you didn’t, or, I’m pretty sure you didn’t, otherwise Adams would have probably fired me on the spot. So… thank you.”

Thomas shifted on his feet. Alexander Hamilton was thanking him. What had the world come to?

“Don’t worry about it,” Thomas said, not knowing what else he could say. “Besides,” Thomas added, smirking to himself slightly, “Adams is such a lovely chap, he’d never even dream of getting rid of you. With him being such a lovely person and all.”

Hamilton’s eyes lifted from the floor. “Yeah, right, that pompous, arrogant, lazy idiot can take his fucking extension strategy and shove it where the sun doesn’t—” Hamilton cut himself off, realising he’d fallen into Thomas’ trap. His eyes sunk back to the floor and he, once again, slipped on his mask before fabricating some half-assed excuse and leaving Thomas as suddenly as he’d come.

However, even after Hamilton was well out of sight, Thomas kept smiling at his small victory – he’d managed to get the old Hamilton back, even if it was just for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Guess who's back, back again, writing a Hamilton fanfic in 2019
> 
> Thank you for coming back, or just coming in general. Please let me know what you think of the story so far - all comments/opinions are welcome - and please let me know if you find any errors.
> 
> See you soon!


	3. And Peggy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy, Angelica and Eliza are all introduced. We also find out how Philip died :(

Thomas was still smiling when he picked up his briefcase and made his way to the elevator, heading to the first floor. He was walking past Reception when he heard a voice say, “You’re looking strangely happy, Thomas.”

After practically jumping out of his skin, Thomas turned around to see Peggy, sitting on her desk, trying to stifle her laughter. “Jesus, Peggy, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here so late?” Thomas asked, trying to brush off the fact that he jumped higher than a pole-vaulter.

“Eliza’s picking me up after she gets Angelica from the airport,” Peggy explained, swinging her legs back and forth.

Along with practically every other person in the company, Thomas had already heard about Angelica’s relocation from the London branch. The company had said as sales were declining in America, it only made sense for Angelica to move back from the UK, seeing as how she was renowned for being so good at her job; but Peggy had told Thomas that in reality, Angelica said that she was moving back to the USA to be with Eliza after Hamilton’s betrayal, and the company couldn’t stand to lose her. Either way, Thomas had been mentally bracing himself for Angelica’s arrival. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, it was simply that it was a lot of effort to keep up the image which people expected of him.

Thomas only ever felt comfortable enough to be his true self with James Madison and Peggy Schuyler. James because he’d grown up with him, they’d gone to high-school together, they’d gone to college together, they’d joined the company together; Peggy because of his disastrous first day which included spilling ink all over Hamilton, and himself and both of them having to trudge down to reception to see if there were any spare shirts – and despite not knowing Thomas at all, at that point in time, Peggy gave the inconspicuous white shirt to Thomas and the Hawaiian one to Hamilton, her brother-in-law. 

“I’d better get off, then,” Thomas said, reluctantly, wanting to talk to his friend, but not wanting to get stuck around Angelica.

“She’s really nice,” Peggy said, reaching out and grabbing Thomas’ sleeve “And she likes you.”

“What?!” exclaimed Thomas in shock-horror.

“Not like that,” Peggy laughed. “She thinks you’re smart. She said the company could use more people like you.”

“Which is all the more reason why I want to go before she gets here. If I spend too much time around anyone, I’ll just ruin their image of me.”

“That’s not true,” Peggy told him, but Thomas offered her a disbelieving smile. “I like the real you,” Peggy protested, causing Thomas to smile at the memory.

Thomas was rather awkward around other people, but it really didn’t help that he thought that the receptionist on the front desk was rather cute. He’d put on his best suit, popped a few mints and even put some gel in his hair to try to tame his curls, before trying to return his borrowed shirt to the receptionist. The plan was to walk smoothly up to her desk, give the shirt back, and flirt until he got her number. In reality, he bumped into three people, tripped over his own feet, accidentally knocked over the receptionist’s coffee, all before saying (and Peggy had never let him live this bit down), “Hey, I’m shirt, here’s the Thomas.”

It was the day after the shirt fiasco, where James had a lunchtime meeting with Washington, Thomas thought that seeing as his only friend was busy, he’d go out on his lunch hour. He was quickly passing reception when Peggy called out to him, saying it was her lunch hour, too, and wondering if he’d want to grab a bite to eat together. Thomas did eventually manage to get Peggy’s number, but he never managed to ask her out, and after a while the romantic feelings wore off, leaving her Thomas’ best friend (well, alongside James, of course).

“Peggy!” both Angelica and Eliza shouted, causing Thomas to mentally curse himself for not getting out of the building fast enough.

Peggy ran over to her sisters and the three of them shared a hug whilst Thomas stood there awkwardly before Angelica addressed him with a simple, “Jefferson.”

“Angelica,” Thomas said, wanting to sink into the floor. Peggy was his best friend, he wanted to seem like a good person in front of her sister. “I was just leaving if that’s alright with you. It’s nice to see you, though. You, too, Eliza.”

“Oh,” Angelica said, “that’s a shame, but I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other within the next few months.”

Thomas nodded, shyly, before leaving as quickly as possible with Angelica’s words still ringing in his head. He needed to grow up and stop being afraid of other people. It wasn’t as though he’d done anything to make him appear horrible. It wasn’t as though he’d cheated on her sister, Thomas thought, feeling a pang of sympathy for Hamilton. It wasn’t going to be easy for him having another Schulyer sister in the building, but Peggy always stayed at the reception desk unless she was going out for lunch with Thomas and James, Angelica, on the other hand, would be running around everywhere (and, by what Thomas had heard, she was much feistier than Peggy.) “Poor Hamilton,” Thomas muttered to himself.

Wait, Thomas said to himself as he shut his car door and started up the engine. Did he just say what he thought he just said? Was he seriously feeling sorry for the man who’d purposely tried to annoy him as often as possible since the day Thomas accidentally spilt ink over his shirt? Was he really feeling sorry for the man who’d shut the elevator doors in his face countless times? Was he really feeling sorry for the man who’d hogged the photocopier more time than Thomas could count? Was he really feeling sorry for the man who’d opposed his marketing plans more times than he could remember, just to piss Thomas off?

Thomas shook his head as he got out of his car, trying to remove Hamilton from his thoughts as he made his way up to his apartment whilst simultaneously writing a quick text to Peggy.

**To: Peggs**

**Sorry for being awkward and leaving so suddenly. I hope you have a good night with your sisters.**

**TJ**

Thomas then put his key in the lock, turned on the light and made his way into his empty apartment. The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, consisting of Thomas getting himself dinner (a can of pringles, because who had the effort to cook?), mindlessly watching TV as he ate, then getting ready for bed.

Ever since Thomas had got his own apartment and his parents weren’t there to tell him to stop being such a child, Thomas had slept with his bedroom light on. He felt completely stupid doing so, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever going to find out, and it provided a strange sense of comfort which locking the doors simply didn’t achieve, allowing Thomas to usually fall asleep in a matter of minutes – the keyword there being ‘usually’.

Except all Thomas could think about, as he lay there, feeling the light hit his eyelids, was Hamilton and that fact that he’d still be in his office, sleeping on the floor, whilst his marriage lay in tatters and his son rested in the ground. The accident was tragic, there was no doubt about that. Thomas had heard it from Peggy before the story reached the papers. Little Philip had been missing his daddy ever since Eliza kicked Hamilton out; he’d gone from getting to see his father every day to seldom every week. It was only natural from him to tear his hand away from Eliza’s and run to his father when he saw him walking down the other side of the street. 

What little Philip didn’t count on, however, was the business of the road he attempted to cross. He was struck almost instantaneously. The driver, later identified as a man by the name of George Eaker, made no attempt to swerve, simply stating that they didn’t see the child. Eliza stopped the traffic and ran to her son, holding his body as he bled onto the road, whilst talking to her son, trying to keep him conscious. All as Hamilton called an ambulance and looked on in horror. When he tried to get any closer, Eliza simply shrieked at him, holding her son’s body closer to her chest. Thomas couldn’t even imagine how Hamilton must have felt, having to witness that, having to see the entire world he’d built for himself, crumble into ash. It made Thomas understand why his eyes had lost their sparkle, and how he never smiled anymore. He’d lost everything, no wonder he’d changed.

Thomas went to Philip’s funeral at Peggy’s request. He’d felt like an imposter because, despite working with Hamilton for an age, they’d never been friends, they’d never exchanged anything other than insults – but he was Peggy’s friend, he was Peggy’s best friend, and Philip was Peggy’s nephew, so Thomas went. It was the first time he’d seen Hamilton cry. He remembered thinking it was wrong, that those eyes, shouldn’t be crying. But the passion and enthusiasm had been exchanged for sorrow and despair, and Thomas couldn’t look away from Hamilton as the tears fell down his cheeks.

When Hamilton noticed Thomas staring at him, Hamilton’s eyes met Thomas’. Hamilton didn’t wipe away his tears as he stared Thomas down. The old Hamilton would have wiped away his tears. The old Hamilton wouldn’t have wanted to appear weak in front of his rival. But it wasn’t the old Hamilton, the old Hamilton often wore an expression of anger and infuriation toward Thomas, but that Hamilton’s face was filled with complete and utter contempt.

Thomas shivered at the memory before remembered that Hamilton had thanked him earlier. Hamilton had thanked him, and Thomas had managed to make Hamilton smile. Thomas smiled at the recent memory before his brain knew what it was doing. That was the moment Thomas finally accepted, whether he liked it or not, he did care about Alexander Hamilton. He wasn’t sure when, or even how, it happened, but all that mattered was that happy feeling Thomas got in his chest when he recalled Hamilton’s smile. 

Thomas was angry at himself, but only for a split second. Caring wasn’t something that Thomas had a choice about, he couldn’t suddenly switch off the empathy button in his head. Thomas didn’t have a choice – or at least that’s what Thomas told himself as he lay on his bed, staring up at the light before turning his attention to his phone.

**To: Idiot Alert**

**How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?**

**TJ**

Thomas waited a quarter of an hour for a reply before realising that Hamilton probably wasn’t in the mood for stupid jokes, so he cut to the chase.

**To: Idiot Alert**

**You probably already know, but Angelica’s back in New York, meaning that Peggy’s probably going to be spending more of her time with her sisters, and James is, more than likely, going to be busy with a new scheme of his (lord knows what he gets up to in his spare time). So, what I’m saying is, you’re welcome to come to my office for lunch or anything if you want to get out of the way of things, or ever need someone to argue with.**

**TJ**

With only a moment’s hesitation, Thomas sent the hair-brained text. He cared about Hamilton; he didn’t have a choice. Thomas had made his choice the moment he decided to take the stairs, a choice which Thomas still didn’t know the impact of as sleep began to consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Sorry if my writing wasn't at its usual level this chapter, I know it was kind of an info-dump but I had a lot of information I wanted to get out and didn't really know how else to do it. I promise the writing level is back to its normal standard for next week if you just stick with me. 
> 
> All comments/opinions are welcome. It's absolutely amazing to know that people are, not only reading, but also liking what I'm writing.
> 
> Please let me know if you find any errors.


	4. The infamous glue thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous glue thief strikes again, the extent of Thomas' anxiety is revealed, and the boys do some laundry

Thomas groaned as the light hit his eyes causing his memories of the previous night to come back to him, dispelling any previous calm which his sleep had provided. He’d not only text Hamilton, but he’d also essentially offered to be friends with him. What the hell had he been thinking?

Thomas grabbed his phone in an instant and checked his messages. He couldn’t decide if he was happy or disappointed when he saw that Hamilton hadn’t replied. He had no way of checking if Hamilton had seen his messages and was ignoring him, or if he simply hadn’t noticed them. Heck, Hamilton might not even have a phone anymore, now that Thomas thought about it, he was living in his office, after all. 

Thomas checked the clock and immediately shook his head and got out of bed; he was already running late (well, his version of late, anyway). Luckily, Thomas had perfected the art of getting ready in literally 10 minutes, so he was still able to pull into the practically empty parking lot and get through the front doors a good twenty minutes early.

“You’re late,” Peggy commented as Thomas walked past reception. Peggy was the only person who got there earlier than Thomas – well, except Hamilton, but Hamilton didn’t count because Hamilton never technically left the building.

“And you look half-dead,” Thomas replied after seeing how Peggy could barely keep her eyes open. “I take it you had a good night with your sisters?”

“I got two hours of sleep and a terrible hangover.”

Thomas laughed at that, causing Peggy to glare at him before they both burst into laughter which laughed all the way until Thomas made his way the lobby.

“Oh, by the way, there’s a meeting for everyone at 10:30. It’s probably just going to be Adams introducing Angelica to everyone!” Peggy called.

Thomas gave a one-handed thumbs-up before turning onto the lobby and immediately remembering this previous text to Hamilton. He’d still be fine going to lunch with Peggy, right? Thomas shook it off, Hamilton hadn’t even replied. Hamilton did hate him after all.

***

Although his closed eyes might have said otherwise, Thomas tried to pay attention to Adams, he really did, it’s just his voice was about as interesting as watching paint dry. At the beginning of the meeting, Thomas had been quite compelled to stare at Hamilton (who actually wasn’t late this time), looking for any sign that he’d received the texts that Thomas sent last night – but then, when James nudged his foot beneath the table, Thomas realised that he’d probably been staring at Hamilton for a strangely long amount of time, so Thomas pulled his eyes away from Hamilton and tried to look like he was listening to Adams. He’d had managed to get through the part where Adams introduced Angelica, he got through Angelica’s speech (although that was easy as she, unlike Adams, had charisma), but then Adams had got onto the infamous glue-stick thief and it caused Thomas’ mind to wander to the question of why somebody would want so many glue-sticks. Maybe it was so they could sniff them all before Adams’ meetings as a way to stay awake? Or maybe somebody was selling them on the black market? _A glue stick empire,_ Thomas thought. Maybe they were in high demand for people who couldn’t afford weed?

“And that is Thomas Jefferson’s extension strategy,” Adams said, and the sound of hearing his name caused Thomas’ eyes dart open. “Which we’ll hopefully be able to officially pass within the next few weeks now that all the necessary signatures have been collected. Now, what is this extension strategy? I hear those of you who haven’t read the documents asking. Well, I would tell you, but I feel that Thomas would be able to give you a better rundown of the extension strategy I would be able to, seeing as it’s his idea. Thomas?”

Thomas blinked a few times, hoping he’d somehow wake up. Yet, as Adams stepped to the side and indicated for Thomas to come up and speak to the group, Thomas realised that he wasn’t going to awaken from this nightmare. Thomas couldn’t talk in front of people. 

Well, technically, he could, he’d given very good speeches in front of many different people – but he had to know that he’d be giving a speech. Thomas had to be prepared. Thomas had to spend hours writing a draft of the speech, then correcting the draft and turning it into an actual speech. Thomas had to spend hours practising to James, Peggy and the mirror. Thomas needed to learn every single word of the speech, he needed to know like the back of his hand. It was only then could he get up and blank everyone out. He’d turn into a robot, reciting the speech, making the necessary eye-contact and answer any questions before retreating back to his seat and have James silently congratulate him.

“Tom,” James whispered, “you okay?” 

James knew Thomas wasn’t okay. James knew Thomas couldn’t spontaneously speak in front of people to save his life. James knew it was Thomas’ worst nightmare. James was the one who’d comforted Thomas after his first panic-attack in university. Even though James had never understood, he’d always been willing to try to understand. And he understood that at that moment, there was nothing more Thomas wanted to do than throw himself out of the nearest window.

But Thomas had to appear confident, Thomas had to keep up the pretence that he was confident, that he wasn’t terrified of everybody else judging him as soon as he stood in front of them. 

_Why don’t you view it as a chance to shine rather than a chance to fail_, Thomas recalled James saying as he stood up and nervously made his way to the front. Thomas could feel everybody's eyes burrowing into him, watching every step he took, staring at him, waiting for him to fail, waiting to laugh at him, waiting for him to fail. 

_Because that’s all I do_, he’d tell James. _I fail_.

There appeared to many more people in the room now that Thomas was stood at the front and not idly thinking about Hamilton or glue sticks whilst dozing in his chair. Everyone was staring at him so expectantly, expecting him to be the person they thought he was, expecting him to be somebody he wasn’t. Expecting him to be smart and charismatic.

“I—” Thomas began, but the words got caught in his throat as he realised that however many people were staring at him, there was double that amount of eyes penetrating his very soul. He’d mess up. He’d say something wrong. He couldn’t be spontaneous. He couldn’t be charismatic. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know how he would appear. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. 

It was only when Thomas picked up his glass to take a sip of water (a tactic which James had taught him in high-school for when Thomas needed more time to think) did he notice that his hands were violently shaking. Thomas immediately put the glass back on the table, wondering who’d seen how terribly his hands were shaking. _Think_, he told himself. _Think. Speak. Do something_. But the fear of failure kept Thomas glued to the spot. 

“The extension strategy?” Adams prompted.

“Yes. I… Strategy… think… I…”

Was he having a heart attack? It sure felt like it. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it was definitely beating too fast. Way too fast. It wasn’t slowing down. Could he get too much blood? Thomas knew that people could die from blood loss, but was it possible to die from having too much blood? Maybe why that’s why everything was starting to spin. Maybe why that’s why Thomas was shaking like an Eskimo. Thomas put his glass back on the table as his hands began to tingle. He couldn’t breathe. Everyone was looking at him. Was he having a heart attack? Was he going to die? He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know what was happening. He just prayed for James to save him. For somebody to save him. He was going to die.

He was suddenly drenched. Thomas’ first thought was that he was bleeding, but with further inspection, his ‘blood’ was brown, and smelt like coffee, and—

“Hamilton!” Adams shouted.

Hamilton was somehow standing next to Thomas, holding an empty mug, and also covered in coffee.

“Thomas, go get cleaned up. Hamilton, you’d better go, too, but I want a word with you later—”

“Do you want me to explain the extension strategy, sir?” James asked Adams.

Adams looked for Thomas’ approval which Thomas immediately gave before darting out of the conference room as fast as his legs would carry him. Once the conference room was out of sight, Thomas lent against the nearest wall, trying desperately to get his breathing back in sync.

_Just a panic attack,_ Thomas thought. _Just another panic attack. You’re not dying. Get a hold of yourself. Breathe._

“Fuck,” Thomas muttered to himself. He couldn’t stop himself from gasping for breath. He heard the door from the conference room creak open and immediately began sprinting away; other than James and Peggy, he didn’t want anyone to see him like that. He had a reputation to maintain, a pretence to keep.

“Thomas?” Peggy called as came into view of the reception desk. “What the hell’s over your shirt?”

Thomas didn’t reply, he just clutched the edge of the desk, trying to stop himself from shaking.

“Hey,” Peggy said gentler this time, “Thomas, are you okay?”

“Can’t breathe,” Thomas gasped. “Panic attack.”

Peggy reached out to touch him, but Thomas instinctively backed away like he’d been burned. Still hyperventilating, he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. He wasn’t actively crying, a few stray tears had just escaped his eyes whilst his mind was ‘preoccupied’.

“I don’t know what to do,” Peggy said. “What can I do?”

“Jefferson!” Hamilton called as he jogged down the hallway. “You alright?”

Thomas nodded, keeping his eyes away from Hamilton. He couldn’t look him in the eye – not after such a display of weakness, not whilst he still had tear tracks down his cheeks.

“I need you to look at me,” Hamilton said sternly.

“Alexander, can’t you just leave—?”

“Peggy, I know what I’m doing. Jefferson, you need to look at me.”

Thomas shook his head again, afraid his voice might betray him as the rest of his body had.

“Jefferson, please.”

And somehow Thomas couldn’t deny Hamilton after that. Hamilton used to always sound so cocky and abrasive, until recently where all he’d sound was broken, but at that moment, he sounded none of those. He sounded strangely gentle and almost innocent, like somebody Thomas could trust.

Hamilton’s eyes were a strange sort of dark brown that Thomas had always been able to get lost in. As much as Thomas had hated him, he’d always admired the fire which so evidently burned in his eyes. Even after the fire was extinguished, Thomas still found Hamilton’s eyes strangely captivating – he was so beautifully broken. And, at that moment, Hamilton’s eyes gave Thomas something to hold on to, they gave him an anchor, and from the moment their eyes locked onto one another’s, Thomas felt calmer.

“Good,” Hamilton said gently. “Good. Right, Jefferson, can you copy me breathing?”

Thomas nodded, trying to mimic Hamilton.

“Good,” Hamilton muttered, and that’s what he kept repeating, right until Thomas’ breathing steadies and the feeling returned to his hands and feet, all as Peggy stared, mouth open, in astonishment. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Thomas muttered as he nodded his head. “Thank you.” The words felt strange on his tongue; he couldn’t quite believe that he was thanking Hamilton.

“Alexander,” Peggy said, “how did you—?”

“My brother, James, used to have panic attacks.”

“I didn’t know you have a brother,” both Thomas and Peggy said at once.

“We lost touch a while back after I left for New York,” explained Hamilton, still keeping his eyes fixed on Thomas in, what Thomas would call, disbelief.

“Oh,” both Peggy and Thomas said in union before an awkward silence fell over the three of them.

“I’ll check in lost property for any spare shirts for the two of you,” Peggy said, managing to escape the awkward situation.

“Thanks, Peggs,” Thomas muttered before turning back to face Hamilton – except Hamilton wasn’t looking at him anymore, he was staring, almost bashfully, at the ground, and he remained that way until Peggy brought out the same two shirts from their last fiasco.

Hamilton instinctively reached for the Hawaiian shirt, but Thomas took it from him, because somewhere between remembering how to breathe correctly and Peggy walking out with the two shirts, Thomas had realised that the coffee Hamilton spilt on him wasn’t even hot; Hamilton had no reason to be carrying freezing cold coffee, unless he was trying to get Thomas out of the conference room. It had been no accident. Thomas couldn’t decide if that was because Hamilton actually, maybe, possibly, cared about him or if it was part of the practically suicidal attitude which Hamilton had taken towards his job. Either way, though, Hamilton was already in Adams’ bad books but he’d still taken a chance to get Thomas out of the meeting, and Thomas was grateful enough to not let Hamilton wear the Hawaiian shirt of doom.

Peggy, however, not knowing any of that information, gave Thomas an exceptionally strange look when he took the Hawaiian shirt from Hamilton’s hands. Hamilton’s expression showed a more reserved form of shocked, like an ‘I’m shocked at your actions, but I really don’t give enough fucks about anything, in general, to bother to put on a shocked expression, so I’m going keep the deadpan expression which I’ve been wearing for months now’ kind of expression.

Then, with Thomas going first, the two of them put on their new shirts in the backroom behind Peggy’s desk.

“Are you okay?” Peggy asked Thomas when Hamilton was putting his new shirt on out of earshot. Unlike James, she’d only seen one of Thomas’ panic attacks before, and she was about as useful during that attack as she was during the one which Thomas just had – which is to say, not very.

Thomas nodded. “Sorry for worrying you.”

“I just feel so useless.”

“Don’t. Seriously, they barely happen anymore. You shouldn’t feel bad, it’s just me being stupid.”

She shook her head. “You’re not stupid, Thomas, for from it,” she told him sincerely before pulling him into a hug. “I’m always here if you want to talk.”

“I know,” Thomas said. “Thank you, Peggs.”

Hamilton coughed from behind them causing Thomas and Peggy to break away from their hug.

“I suppose we should better get back to the meeting,” Thomas said.

“There’s no point,” Peggy interjected. “It’s nearly lunch, anyways.”

Thomas checked his watch; she was right. “Are you—?”

“I’m sorry, Thomas, I promised Angelica I’d spend lunch with her. I can cancel if you—”

“No, it’s fine. I should probably get this shirt washed as soon as possible, and try to prevent any stains. I’ll just find the nearest laundrette,” Thomas told Peggy, pulling out his phone.

“There’s one down Kings Street,” Hamilton said. 

Thomas nodded and put his phone back in his pocket. Peggy shot Hamilton a questioning look, but Thomas realised in an instant why Hamilton knew where the nearest laundrette was.

“Have a good time with Angelica,” Thomas said sincerely to Peggy before leaving through the front doors, clutching his coffee-soaked shirt. He felt slightly… out of place wearing the Hawaiian horror, especially since he had never been one for drawing attention to himself, but Thomas just gritted his teeth and started walking to Kings Street. He got around ten steps away from the front door before noticing that Hamilton was following him.

Now, Thomas would usually have just turned around and began to shout at Hamilton, but in light of recent events, that action no longer seemed appropriate, so Thomas simply turned around and raised a questioning eyebrow at Hamilton who offered the simple explanation of, “You aren’t the only one whose shirt got covered in coffee.”

Thomas just shrugged and continued to Kings Street.

***

_Well, this is awkward_, was all Thomas’ mind could think as he sat, with Hamilton next to him, in an empty laundrette, watching both their shirts roll around in the washing machine. It had been Thomas’ idea to put both their shirts in one machine to save money, and Hamilton had just shrugged passively.

Hamilton appeared to do almost everything passively, Thomas concluded as he turned his eyes to the man beside him. Hamilton was visibly skinnier than he ever had been before, which was slightly worrying considering the fact that Hamilton had never been exactly a healthy weight, to begin with (probably due to working through meals, Thomas concluded). Other slightly worrying features Thomas was slowly noticing included a certain hollowness to Hamilton’s cheeks, a definite tangle to his hair, and there was a distinct sunken appearance to his eyes. 

_He looks so sad_, was the only thing Thomas found himself able to think, and it was probably the biggest understatement of the year. He looked completely and utterly beaten, like somebody had sucked all the hope from his body, replaced them with nagging, nihilistic thoughts of self-destruction. Thomas found himself beating back the guilt his own body was producing, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a sandwich he’d hastily prepared earlier – after not receiving a reply from Hamilton, Thomas just concluded that he’d be eating lunch alone in his office.

“Do you want some?” Thomas asked, poking Hamilton’s bony shoulder.

Hamilton cautiously eyed the sandwich like it was an unexploded bomb. “Why?” He asked, the scepticism evident in his voice. “You hate me.”

And Thomas didn’t know why, but those three words hurt a distinct amount more than they should have. Probably because they should have been true; probably because, up until a few weeks ago, they were true. Hamilton had never been pleasant to Thomas, and Thomas would rather have been dammed before he started exchanging pleasantries with ever obnoxious, nerve pinching, Alexander Hamilton – but he wasn’t exchanging pleasantries with Alexander Hamilton, he was offering part of a sandwich to the shell of a man who sat beside him. 

Thomas didn’t hate him. Thomas didn’t know how to hate somebody like the person Hamilton had turned into; Hamilton clearly had enough self-hatred that Thomas couldn’t find it within himself to add to the pile.

But instead of voicing everything which went through his head, Thomas simply said, “I’m offering you half a sandwich, Hamilton, it’s hardly noteworthy. Besides, you look like you haven’t eaten in days, you’re skinny as a stick.”

Hamilton’s head jerked upward to finally look Thomas in the eyes before he scoffed and took the sandwich from Thomas’ hand and eating it as he looked Thomas in the eye as if to prove a point.

Thomas couldn’t stifle the smile which spread over his face as the old Hamilton began to poke through.

Hamilton quickly finished the sandwich and returned his eyes back to the tiled floor, bringing his eyes up to look at Thomas every minute or so, as if he was gathering the courage to say something. After about the fifth time, Thomas finally caught him and raised a questioning eyebrow (a gesture which was really beginning to irk Hamilton).

“Was that your first attack?” Hamilton asked reluctantly.

Thomas practically laughed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was the first one in around eight months, though.”

Hamilton nodded, before asking, “How old were you when you had the first one?”

_What is this, an interrogation?_ Thomas thought, before realising that anything would be better than the awkward silence they were previously sat it – and Thomas was trying to be the bigger man and put their differences aside – so he answered with the truthful answer of, “Fourteen.”

“Must have been hard.”

Thomas, once again, nearly laughed at Hamilton’s huge understatement. “You’ve got no idea. I got them every day, sometimes more than once. I was so terrified of having another attack that I stopped leaving the house; James used to have to come around with all the work I’d missed every day—”

“James Madison?”

Thomas nodded. “James was there through everything. They don’t happen that often anymore – only when I’m in stressful situations.”

“‘Stressful,’” Hamilton joked, and Thomas couldn’t even be angry because he hadn’t heard Hamilton make even the resemblance of a joke in around six months. 

“It’s stressful for me,” Thomas muttered, mocking offence. “Especially when Adams gives me no time to actually rehearse the damn thing.”

Hamilton let out a quiet huff, like what Thomas had said was amusing, but not quite worth the effort of a laugh. “My brother was like you – except he never grew out of it.”

Thomas didn’t ‘grow out of it’ by any means – it took him six months of therapy to leave the house again – but Thomas didn’t really fancy disclosing any more information to Hamilton than he already had, so Thomas just kept his mouth shut.

“I’d never have you pegged down for the type, though,” Hamilton continued, and, once again, Thomas kept his mouth shut; there was no ‘type’.

“I suppose we really don’t know each other at all,” Thomas muttered to the floor as their washing machine came to a halt. 

Thomas walked over and grabbed their shirts, transferring them to the drier before sitting back down next to Hamilton and saying, “I don’t hate you, you know?”

Hamilton just shrugged and continued to face the drier, and, after a couple of beats, a clearly amused Hamilton said, “I guess we ended up spending lunch together, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who tuned back in for this chapter, and to everyone who's tuning in for the first time.
> 
> In case you haven't noticed, this chapters a heck of a lot longer than the others, purely due to the fact that I had no idea how to split it into two without making it appear really disjointed, but I hope you liked it anyways. All comments/opinions are welcome, and please let me know if you find any errors.
> 
> See you guys next week!


	5. Dream sequences - yes, we're going there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler-ish chapter, but kind of not because I promise I have a plan for these dream sequences

_There was no sound, there was no breeze, there was no ground, and there was no light; there was only Hamilton, standing by himself, on the edge of a cliff. Yet somehow, in the darkness, Thomas could see him standing out against the black framework. Thomas could see his hollow cheeks, matted hair and sunken eyes. Yet, somehow, beneath his bedraggled features, Thomas could see a light in Hamilton’s eyes which he hadn’t seen since the day he marched into Hamilton’s office and started all this mess – Thomas knew that, as he saw the way in which Hamilton was looking at that cliff, Hamilton had found an answer._

_Thomas didn’t even realise that Hamilton had been faced with a question, let alone that Hamilton was in such dire need of an answer. He just watched as Hamilton’s thoughts played out on his face like a movie; he watched as Hamilton’s instant delight at having found a solution, then his brief hesitation about if it was the wrong answer, then his blatant disregard for the answer’s incorrectness, (or perhaps he was convincing himself that it was correct?) and then, his resolve, which spread across his face like the glow of a setting sun._

_And Thomas watched in horror, not realising his mouth had dropped open. He tried walking towards Hamilton, towards the light, but blackness surrounding him turned into claws, all of which were seizing his body, squeezing his arms and legs into submission, holding him against his will as his brain came to the realisation that it was himself who planted the question in Hamilton’s head._

_“Hamilton!” Thomas screamed._

_Hamilton turned around, his mouth pulling an expression of disgust, but his eyes hopelessly begging Thomas for an alternative answer, pleading for another way out of the question Thomas had posed._

_Yet Thomas didn’t have one. He saw the way which Hamilton’s face lit up on seeing an answer, he saw the relief it gave him, he knew that Hamilton was done with whatever game he was playing, he’d found an answer, he’d seen an end to the question, to the problem. Thomas couldn’t give Hamilton an answer – hell, Thomas couldn’t even give Hamilton a reason to continue looking for an answer. Thomas had managed to catch Hamilton, but he didn’t have the equipment to reel him back in, and as the claws began to cover Thomas’ mouth, Hamilton gave Thomas a small, reassuring smile, before leaning backwards and tumbling over the edge of the cliff, taking the light with him and leaving Thomas in darkness._

Thomas woke up, shaking, terrified, thinking only of Alexander Hamilton, and he had no idea why. Despite working in the same building, Thomas hadn’t even seen Hamilton since ‘the coffee incident’ three days ago, there had been nothing to prompt the nightmare.

Rolling over, Thomas tried to dispel Hamilton’s last smile from his mind. Yes, it wasn’t real, but the guilt Thomas felt sure was. Just like Hamilton said that night when Thomas worked way too late, Thoams had caused it. He’d caused everything, and he didn’t even have an answer.

Thomas kept telling himself it wasn’t real, he kept repeating the mantra in his head. _Not real, not real, not real, not real, not real—_

Thomas’ phone buzzed beside him, the screen lighting up with the words: **Idiot Alert.**

Thomas grabbed the phone of his bedside cabinet and read the full message.

**As much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.**

Thomas smiled, just a little, before checking the time in the top right-hand corner of the screen – 3:47. Thomas debated replying to Hamilton’s text, but he didn’t want to disclose the fact that he, too, was awake in the middle of the night (especially after having a dream about Hamilton), so Thomas just turned his phone off, rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, safe with the knowledge that Hamilton was alive and safe.

***

Thomas typed out a quick message to Hamilton after tying his tie, not wanting to appear like he was ignoring Hamilton, but like he’d just woken up and seen Hamilton’s message for the first time.

**To: Idiot Alert**

**Bet you don’t know how much ground a groundhog could hog if a groundhog could hog ground?**

**TJ**

Thomas was nearly at work when his phone buzzed again. He pulled into his usual empty parking space and began walked to the main building, pulling out his phone as he walked and reading Hamilton’s message.

**Easy. As much ground as a groundhog could hog if a groundhog could hog ground**

**From: Idiot Alert**

“Who’s that?” Peggy asked, leaning over her desk as Thomas walked through the front doors, holding his phone.

“What’s what?” Thomas asked, quickly putting his phone in his back pocket.

“The person who’s got you smiling wider than a Cheshire cat.”

“Nobody.”

“I definitely don’t believe that,” Peggy said playfully.

“Is anything scheduled in for today?” Thomas asked, eager to change the subject.

Peggy shook her head before a sudden realisation spread across her face and she said, “I know I haven’t done much with you these past few days, so I text James last night and he’s cleared his lunch so we can do something together – if you want?”

A smile spread over Thomas’ face; it had been too long since the three of them spent lunch together. “I’d love to,” he said. “Where should we go?”

“It’s up to you,” Peggy replied.

“It’s up to you,” Thomas countered.

The two of them both adopted very thoughtful expressions before they both simultaneously said, “Nandos?” before laughing at their shared thought. Yes, James was a vegetarian. Yes, he was going to put up with it anyway. Behind Thomas’ trusty mac and cheese, Nandos was his favourite – and Peggy like it, which was more than could be said when it came to Thomas’ mac and cheese.

“Twelve?” Thomas asked.

“Twelve,” Peggy confirmed.

Thomas made his way through the door, giving Peggy his signature thumbs-up before heading to his office, pulling out his phone, texting Hamilton (**What’s black and white and red all over?**), and getting to work. 

It wasn’t long before Thomas began to hear the rest of the building come to life with the sounds of familiar footsteps and recognisable voices flooding the corridors. Thomas could never seem to fathom how he somehow felt more alone when the building was full with people; people quickly transformed into walls, and it made him feel penned in like a farm animal back that he’d see back in Monticello. Thomas, like any normal human being, didn’t like feeling trapped – he always stayed near the edge of a busy room, never diverting to the centre. Thomas didn’t like to be in the centre of anything, especially not anybody else’s attention – and he wasn’t. Thomas never had been: his mother had always had her attention divided between his siblings; his father had always been more concerned with running his own business; James was his best friend but he’d always been concerned for his studies at school or his work for the company; Peggy’s family and her sisters had always been her first priority.

And Thomas had never felt bitter, despite his father, his mother, James and then Peggy all being the most important things in his life at different times. He’d always got more attached to people than they had to him, it was a fact he’d become accustomed to. He figured it was down to the fact that most people had a lot more close friends than he did, hence he was always more likely to get attached to the few people who always stuck by his side.

Thomas shook his head, knocking himself out of the confines of his head – it was always scary to spend too much time in there, analysing himself, picking at his inadequacies. He set his mind back to his laptop and the task at hand. 

***

Thomas was collecting his newest document from the printer in his office when he heard the unfamiliar sound of a knock on his door, along with Angelica’s voice saying, “Thomas?” And, now, any normal person – any respectable businessman – would have walked over and answered to door, it was a normal social etiquette.

Maybe it was the fact it was Angelica which made Thomas so nervous, maybe it was the fact that he’d had a panic attack the last time which he saw her, or maybe it was the fact that even getting a knock at his door was very unexpected. But, whatever the cause, Thomas had somehow ended up lying on his belly, directly in front of the door, trying to make as little noise as possible.  
A triumphant smirk crept across Thomas’ face when he heard the hollow tapping of Angelica's heels begin to walk away.

** _Buzz_ **

Thomas died a little inside when Angelica walked back up to his door and, instead of looking through the blinds on the door into the room, she angled her glance downwards to see Thomas lying on the floor; Thomas did a little roll so that he was on his back and then gave Angelica a little wave before getting up and opening the door.

“Hey,” Thomas said coolly, “Angelica, nice to see you. I… dropped a pen?”

“And there I was thinking you were hiding from me,” Angelica replied, but there was no malice in her voice. “I’m just going around everyone, checking their work.” Thomas didn’t think that Angelica was even technically allowed to do that, or even where she’d gotten her figures from, but he let her continue anyways. “And, actually with you, I don’t see a problem. Since your arrival as head of marketing, sales have skyrocketed, and everyone seems to love your new extension strategy – but I’m concerned about your communication with the rest of the team. You’re very good on paper, but most people do admit to being slightly intimidated by you.”

Thomas very nearly laughed at what – people were actually intimidated by him. 

“And I understand that you probably don’t mean to be intimidating by any means, but that’s how you appear to others. So, I’m just here wondering if you could perhaps make a slightly more of an effort to actually speak to people in your team rather than just leaving notes stuck to their doors.”

Thomas just nodded as he spotted Peggy outside his door, waiting for him. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice – he really didn’t want to argue with Angelica.

“Thank you,” She said before leaving and smiling to Peggy on her way out.

Thomas greeted Peggy with a hug before collecting his coat and walking down to the main doors where James was waiting for them. It was only once James and Peggy were in mid-argument (something that they did a lot, yet still managed to remain friends), that Thomas checked his phone, wanting to know who was responsible for his awkward as hell encounter with Angelica.

**From: Idiot Alert**

**A newspaper. Boring.**

Thomas let out a small, amused laugh before texting back.

**To: Idiot Alert**

**Nope :)**

**TJ**

“Who’s that,” James asked breaking away from his argument with Peggy when he noticed Thomas’ phone.

“This girl he fancies,” Peggy joked.

James laughed and offered Thomas an inquisitive look, but Thomas just put his phone back in his pocket and tried stop his face from becoming the colour of a tomato. He didn’t know how he felt about Peggy’s assumption. He wasn’t even friends with Hamilton. He didn’t even know why they were texting each other – all he knew was that he didn’t want it to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm really sorry this chapter took so long to post - it was my birthday last Wednesday, and then I've been trying to get my timetable fixed - I didn't really have the time to go through and edit anything.
> 
> I also apologise if this feels like a filler chapter. I wanted to give you guys something so I had to split a chapter in half, which is why my writing deteriorates towards the end (as that bit was kind of just added on XD). Hopefully the meeting with Angelica will make more sense next chapter. Personally, I completely hate dream sequences, but I promise it's all relevant buildup.
> 
> Anyways, sorry for taking so long and i hope to see you guys next week (hopefully Sunday) with another chapter.
> 
> All comment/opinions are welcome; please let me know if you find any errors.


	6. I think we all know someone who 'runs' like Adams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is a picky eater, Angelica gets rather angry and Thomas enjoys a nice stroll in the rain.

“Okay,” Peggy laughed, pushing the double-doors open and allowing both Thomas and James to go before her. “I’ll admit going to Nando’s was slightly cruel of us.”

“Slightly?!” James said, and Thomas couldn’t tell if the anger in his voice was fake or real.

“it’s not our fault you’re a vegetarian who hates salad,” Thomas countered.

“It’s not my fault that you two are happy to eat animal carcasses!” James shot back before putting his hand out and calling his two friends to silence. “Did you hear something?” James asked, looking back and forth between Peggy and Thomas.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t able to get out a syllable before Angelica’s voice boomed through the corridors: “Alexander!”

Thomas, Peggy and James all shared a mutual look of horror, before they all bolted up the stairs to find Angelica (and probably Hamilton).

“I tell you that your work’s been absolutely abysmal and that you really need to pick up your game and all you have to say is ‘yes’?!” Angelica shouts at Hamilton. 

“Yes,” Hamilton responds, not looking Angelica in the eye.

“You don’t care?” Angelica asked, losing the volume of her voice, but it only appeared to become more piercing.

Hamilton was silent for a brief moment, and Thomas found himself holding his breath, praying for Hamilton to not say something stupid; all his hopes were crushed when Hamilton opened his mouth and said, “Not really.”

“How can you be so selfish, Alexander? Do you think that you’re the only one hurting? Philip was both mine and Peggy’s my nephew! Do you think it doesn’t kill us every day to think that he’s gone?! Have you any idea what you’ve put Eliza through?! If you think you’re hurting, just imagine how she feels, losing both her husband and her son, through no fault of her own!”

“Angelica—” Peggy began, but Angelica shot her a deadly look and Peggy shut up.

“But you know what? We’re still marching on! We’re not living in pits of our own sorrow! We’re not turning into a complete burden to the people around us! You’re only here because of Washington! You don’t even do your job! Heck, Alexander, when was the last time you even washed your hair?! You’re not a child anymore!”

“Angelica,” Thomas’ voice said, “calm down.”

Angelica turned to Thomas. “Don’t you tell me to calm down! He covered you in coffee earlier this week, you shouldn’t be standing up for him!”

“Angelica!” Adam’s shouted, doing his little ‘run’ down the corridor which was more like ‘I need to run, but I’ve just remembered I’ve had wayyy too many doughnuts so I’m gonna walk… quickly’. “What do you think you’re doing!”

Thomas saw Hamilton glance from Angelica to Adams before walking briskly through the crowd that had gathered, brushing past Thomas as he made his way out. Thomas was the only person who looked back as Hamilton as he walked away; Hamilton was looking back at everyone just before he turned the corner, and Thomas could see that the whites of his eyes were red.

Peggy took Thomas’ hand, causing Thomas to break his eye-contact with Hamilton. Thomas squeezed her hand before leading her away from the commotion between Adams and Angelica – he knew that seeing her sister upset would only cause her more distress.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked Peggy when they reached the reception desk, well out of the way of Adams’ rant.

Peggy nodded. “I just… I don’t know what I should be feeling. Obviously, I’m upset at Hamilton for what he did to Eliza, but I can’t even force myself to be angry at him because of what he’s doing to himself. I didn’t know Angelica was so mad at him. I just… should I be like that?”

Thomas shook his head, noticing the first droplets of rain hitting the glass double-doors. “Everyone reacts to things differently,” Thomas told her – and it was true. Peggy had a better heart than anyone Thomas knew. She never got unnecessarily angry or mad at anyone. She was always the peacemaker. Always. It made sense that she wouldn’t be mad at Hamilton. (Thomas was also slightly grateful that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t feel necessarily angry at Hamilton’s actions.)

Peggy nodded and pulled Thomas into a hug. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the bad sister,” she muttered into Thomas’ shoulder.

“You’re not,” he told her. “Not at all.” She was the kindest person Thomas knew.

“Did you see Hamilton come through here?” Adams asked, doing his weird little run/walk up to Thomas and Peggy.

Thomas shook his head.

“He’s not in his office, and we can’t find him anywhere. He must have left straight after I came,” Adams said, resting one hand on Peggy’s desk, trying to catch his breath.

Thomas’ heart filled with concern when he looked through the glass doors at the pelting rain outside. He didn’t want Hamilton to be caught outside in that – especially with no home to return to.

“I can’t believe he just left,” Adams muttered bitterly. “There’s so much work to be done and he just left.”

“Do you want us to do anything, sir?” Peggy asked.

Adams shook his head. “No, just get back to work. I’m sorry you have to tolerate his stupid behaviour,” said Adams before walking away from reception and into the elevator (because, of course, he wasn’t going to take the stairs).

On Adams’ orders, Thomas bid a temporary farewell to Peggy and made his way back to his office – but he was only able to sit down for a second before his brain alerted him to the little bullets of rain shooting his window, each one of them shooting a new spike of guilt into Thomas’ psyche. It would not only look odd, but it would also be extremely irresponsible and possibly even threaten his position as Head of Marketing if Thomas were to go looking for Hamilton. Yet, Thomas knew himself, and he knew there was no way that he’d ever be able to get any decent quality of work done whilst Hamilton was out in the pounding rain. He also knew that it was no longer guilt that he was feeling, it was concern, and he was so past pretending that he didn’t care, so Thomas just grabbed his coat and ran down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

“What are you doing?!” Peggy shouted as Thomas put on his coat, pulled the hood up and pushed open the main doors before running into the pouring rain.

“Hamilton!” Was Thomas’ only response as the doors swung closed behind him.

_Where would Alexander Hamilton run off to?_

If Thomas was posed this question six months earlier, Thomas would have simply replied ‘How should I know? My brain doesn’t run off red-bull drinking squirrels on treadmills.’ And, although Thomas would no longer say that Hamilton’s brian was run by squirrels, he still had no idea where the current, nihilistic Hamilton would go; the only place Hamilton appeared to be was his office, and Thomas knew that either Peggy or James would text him if Hamilton returned.

As he debated which direction to turn, the rational part of Thomas’ brain told him that he should just go inside where it was warm and dry, and just wait for Hamilton to return – it’s not like Hamilton had anywhere else except his office to come back to – but, just as he was about to turn back, Thomas’ dream flashed through his mind, his head filled with Hamilton’s little smile, the one he’d made before falling off the cliff.

“For fuck’s sake,” Thomas muttered before he began jogging left (only choosing that direction because it meant that he wasn’t facing the rain head-on).

***

Despite the fact that he was exhausted, shivering and soaked to the bone, Thomas couldn’t help but think about all the things he’d taken for granted; yes, his life wasn’t absolutely perfect – far from it – but he had two absolutely amazing friends, a supportive family, a stable position in a respected business, and enough money to get by. However, this sudden realisation hadn’t entered Thomas’ mind by chance, it had all started with streetlights, the things which Thomas was all too ready to just walk past in the middle of the day – but as he walked, shivering, in the persistent rain, Thomas was just grateful of the streetlights that illuminated his way in the, otherwise pitch-black, night.

It had been hours since Thomas left in search of Hamilton. He’d received multiple worried texts from James and Peggy, both making him reluctantly promise to go home by 7 if he still hadn’t found Hamilton. And, in all honesty, Thomas was already on the verge of giving up as it was. So, as Thomas walked past the port, he finally called defeat and forced himself to turn back empty-handed.

“Jefferson?!”

Thomas swiftly turned around; there was only one person he could think of who called him by his last name. 

“Hamilton?” Thomas questioned in disbelief, slowly walking towards the Hamilton-like shadow and the end of the dock.

“What are you doing here?” Hamilton asked. “It’s tipping it down.”

It was Hamilton. He was alive and breathing, and Thomas couldn’t stop the relief from flooding through his body. It wasn’t until that moment, did he realise that he’d been holding his breath. Thomas didn’t know why he’d been so worried, he knew that Hamilton was a grown man and that he could take care of himself – but he also knew that he hadn’t just spent five hours searching for nothing; Thomas had been expecting the worst, whether he realised it or not. 

“Looking for you,” Thomas answered truthfully, looking Hamilton in the eye. Thomas knew that he’d always been one for overreacting, but, as he looked into Hamilton’s hollow eyes, he couldn’t quite decide if he’d been overreacting or not.

Hamilton’s eyes went wide and he just looked at Thomas for a few seconds, taking in his completely bedraggled state. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious! You just left without telling anyone where you were going!” Something about that made Thomas angry. He’d already told Hamilton that he didn’t hate him, Thomas didn’t know why Hamilton was so shocked that somebody had been looking for him when he spontaneously left without saying a word to anyone. It’s not Thomas’ fault he’d been worried out of his mind, it’s not like he wanted to be out, freezing his arse off in the pouring rain looking for a man he wasn’t quite sure why he cared about.

For a moment or two, Hamilton appeared angry at Thomas’ outburst, and Thomas half expected Hamilton to get mad that Thomas was treating him like a two-year-old, but the anger in Hamilton’s face soon passed, and Hamilton let his head face the ground before saying a simple, “I’m sorry,” to the floor. “I didn’t think… I didn’t mean for you to get worried.”

“I wasn’t worried!” Thomas lied defensively before realising exactly how convincing he must look with his clothes so wet they were sticking to his visibly shaking frame. “I just… I don’t know… I just wanted you to be okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hamilton repeated.

“Don’t apologise,” Thomas said, Hamilton hadn’t forced Thomas to go out looking for him. “You really shouldn’t have left, though. Especially with Adams being so close to firing you.”

“Let him,” Hamilton muttered, smiling the same smile he’d given Thomas before jumping off the cliff. Hamilton wrapped his arms around his torso before turning away from Thomas and looking out onto the water.

Thomas didn’t know what to say. He knew that Hamilton wasn’t lying around being so unbothered; he was broken. Thomas didn’t even know if there was anything he could say to help Hamilton get better.  
“This is the same doc I first arrived at when I came to New York,” Hamilton muttered, breaking the silence. Thomas felt a pang of loss inside him as he imagined a younger version of Hamilton, who wasn’t shivering and soaked to the skin, practically skipping of the ferry, probably singing along to whatever tune was playing through his headphones as he marvelled at the sights around him.

“We should go,” Thomas said gently. “It’s getting dark.”

Hamilton nodded and the two of them made their way from the peer, back to The Company’s building, with each step they took making a rather distinguished squelching noise. It was a rather long walk, and a walk they both took in silence. Thomas couldn’t stop wondering that Hamilton was thinking.

When Thomas turned in to the car park, Hamilton kept walking toward The Company’s doors. “What are you doing?” Thomas asked, perplexed.

“Going to my office?” Hamilton replied, slightly puzzled at Thomas’ question.

Now, Thomas knew that Hamilton was smart, but he also knew that Hamilton could be incredibly dense at times – especially if Hamilton was thinking that Thomas would just let him go back to his office when he’d been out in the pouring rain for hours on end.

Thomas shook his head. “They’ll have locked the doors by now. I’ve got a spare room at my apartment.”

Thomas was fully expecting Hamilton have a full-blown argument with him, but Hamilton just put up his hands in a mock surrender and walked over to Thomas’ car, opening the door and— just standing there.

“You okay?” Thomas asked from behind the wheel.

“I don’t like cars,” Hamilton replied.

“I’ve never crashed anything in my life.”

“I’m not worried about being in danger; I’m worried about being the danger.”

Thomas’ mind immediately flashed back to how little Philip died. “I don’t mind walking,” Thomas said, unbuckling his seat-belt, but Hamilton shook his head and got into the car beside Thomas.

“Are we going, then?” Hamilton asked.

Thomas smiled and started up the engine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Once again, I'm very sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter - I've been bombarded with work recently. I know there's a bit more action, and a bit less internal thinking than there usual, but I hope you'll like it all the same.
> 
> All comment/opinions are welcome, and please let me know if you find any errors.
> 
> See you guys soon!


	7. The poor chicken died for nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Hamilton bond over a plate of terrible curry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short

Thomas shovelled a forkful of curry into his mouth, wondering he should look at Hamilton or not; he’d been staring at the clock for a good couple of minutes, and if he didn’t say anything to Hamilton soon, it was going to begin to get awkward. 

It was just so weird – Alexander Hamilton was sat in Thomas’ kitchen, eating Thomas’ food, and Thomas had absolutely no idea how to feel. He kept getting a nagging sensation to see Hamilton smile again, or to ask if he was okay after Angelica’s rant – obviously, Thomas knew that he wasn’t (nobody who was ‘alright’ spent hour standing in front of a dock in the pouring rain), but it felt polite to ask, even if it wasn’t what he actually wanted to ask. He wanted to ask Hamilton how he could help to make things better if there was any way that he could help to get the spark in Hamilton’s eyes back, but he just shovelled curry into his mouth, wondering how to break the awkward silence.

Thomas’ attention, however, was quickly brought to Hamilton’s fork colliding with his plate. 

“Jesus,” Hamilton exclaimed, letting his fork fall back on his plate. “That’s hot.”

“But it’s good, right?” Thomas asked, suddenly desperate to get Hamilton’s approval on his curry.

“If you enjoy burning your mouth.”

Thomas shrugged. “Not my fault you’re such a pansy,” he remarked – but his tone was playful.

“I’m not a pansy – I just like my food to be flavoursome, not painful.”

Thomas shot Hamilton a dejected look before using his fork to fling a piece of chicken in Hamilton’s direction. The guilt overtook Thomas before the chicken even hit Hamilton’s jumper (well, it was technically Thomas’ jumper, because there was no way that Thomas was going to let Hamilton stay in his soaked clothes all night), it was something he’d do to James, not to Hamilton: he knew how James would react, James wasn’t anywhere near as fragile as Hamilton.

“See,” Hamilton said as the chicken hit his jumper, “you can’t call me rude when even you don’t want to eat it.” He shot Thomas a cocky smile and Thomas laughed, wishing that he could capture that smile in a photo.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked before he could help himself.

“It’s just a bit spicy,” Hamilton replied.  
“I’m not on about the curry.”

“I know,” Hamilton said, letting a few seconds pass in silence before asking, “Why do you care about me?”

“Why should not?” Thomas countered, unsure as to why his heart was beating a little faster.

“You hated me."

“I never hated you, Hamilton, not really. You infuriated me to the bone – but I never hated you. You were… you were so you, so full of life, bounding from one task to the next like a man on a mission. You had a way of getting people to like you, and a confidence that I could only dream of… and, to be honest, I was jealous—”

“You were jealous? Of me?”

“You sound shocked.”

Hamilton shot Thomas a baffled look. “I had to work for everything. After my mother died, I was in care until I was 16. I had to work my way through exams whilst balancing a job and trying to help my brother with his anxiety. I had to work my way up from the bottom. You got your place in The Company because of your dad. I… I always thought that you had everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

Thomas thought back to the paralysing attacks he’d have as a teenager. He remembered pacing back and forth in the landing, trying to work up the courage to leave the house – yet, ultimately trailing back to his room in defeat after the thought of another panic attack made his skin crawl. In those moments, he’d have given anything to not have been Peter Jefferson’s son, to have to look into his father’s eyes and see the disappointment brimming inside.

The worst thing was that it was still there – despite absolutely everything Thomas had done, he still saw the overwhelming disappointment in his father’s eyes. He still felt like a little boy in adults clothes, incapable of leaving his childish fears behind.

It was in that moment that, the penny dropped, and Thomas finally realised why he cared about Hamilton so much – yes, he was annoying as hell, and he completely infuriated Thomas at times (or, at least, he used to), Thomas never had to pretend to be anyone else around Hamilton, there was never any pressure to try to maintain a perfect image. Even as they sat, Thomas realised that he hadn’t even thought twice about putting on his, rather embarrassing, but exceedingly cosy, Star Wars pyjamas.

“What’re you smiling at?” Hamilton asked, noting the grin on Thomas’ face.

“Nothing,” Thomas replied, still beaming.

“You’re so weird.”

Despite the fact that Hamilton had called him much worse in the past, Thomas didn’t hesitate before catapulting another piece of chicken at Hamilton.

Hamilton feigned a gasp as the chicken his jumper before he swiftly launched another piece at Thomas. 

It was approximately one minute before the entire kitchen floor was covered in bits of diced chicken, and both Thomas and Hamilton were grinning at each other like idiots.

“Now who’s smiling like an idiot?” Thomas laughed.

“Jerk,” Hamilton muttered fondly before letting his eyes meet Thomas’. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“What for?” Thomas asked, baffled.

“Everything,” Hamilton replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> Thank you so much for reading
> 
> I'm really sorry for the huge absence, and the fact that this chapter's so short. I was planning on coming back with a really long chapter to compensate, but I felt like i should just put something out there to let you all know that I'm alive. I really am planning to update more regularly - especially over Christmas when I've got more time. I know it sounds cliche, but I've been struggling with my head a lot recently, and it's just sapped all of the motivation out of me - I know I can't exactly write to my best level, and I didn't want to put anything out there that might disappoint anyone (the struggles of perfectionism. I know it's not much of an excuse, but I hope that you can forgive me. I understand that this isn't exactly to my best capabilities, but I just needed to put something out there to get myself out of the rut I've put myself in.
> 
> And, as usual, please let me know if you find any errors.


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